POSTCARDS

What is the attraction? What is my obsession? I have boxes full of blank postcards ready to be written, painted, and/or collage-ed. I love postcards. I think I know why. Let me try to explain.

Postcards are kind. Who has ever heard of a mean postcard? They don't exist. Postcards require effort. They require thought. Postcards require someone to think of another. Most often postcards arrive from the road; the receiver admires the photo, then turns it over and smiles at the idea that Joe Friend stopped to take the time to buy a card, find a pen, jot the wish that they were there, buy a stamp, find a post office or mail box and drop it in. That is a lot, especially if you are traveling through Arizona in an old Mercury without an air conditioner. To subject ones self to the elements in order to ensure a postcard arrives to its destination before the trip is over? That is love. That is the magic of postcards. Postcards care about others. Postcards can save the world if we let them.

Who does not like to get a postcard? No one. Everyone loves to get a card. My mother, when we were young and on our annual road trip, used to yell in a long continuous sing-song voice, "Pooooooostcaaaarrrrd!" whenever we passed what most people would call a "calendar location." I would open my napping eyes and look out the window, not wanting to miss the primo scene. Soaking it in, I would drift back to sleep to the roar of the VW engine.

Even a simple collage of beer toting chicks and an lingerie clad Brooke Burke can bring a smile. I know what my buddies like. They like babes, so I made a postcard and sent it along. Simple. A phone call will follow a few days later when the card arrives at the address. "Dude! Thanks for the card! It is awesome! So, how have you been?" A conversation will ensue. It's all good. Again, the magic of postcards.

Summer is right around the corner. It is postcard season. Send one to someone. I dare you.